


'Til time ignites a spark

by icywind



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentor Phil Coulson, No knowledge of Doctor Who required however, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, though not until Clint is of legal age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Agent had been travelling through time and space for a very long while and during that time he had encountered an innumerable variety of sentient beings. Usually the encounters happen only once – maybe twice. And then he meets a human from Earth named Clint Barton.</p>
<p>And he meets him again.</p>
<p>And again.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how, or to what reason, his life has become tied to Clint’s; but he is determined to figure it out.</p>
<p>(I have a tentative week/every-other week update schedule for this dependent on work and my health)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aged 6

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/gifts), [ereshai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/gifts).



> As it says in the tags, no knowledge of Doctor Who is required - you just need to go with the idea that Coulson is a Time Lord calling himself the Agent. For Whovians that stumble upon this - there may be allusions to the Doctor, but, this is more a fusion and homage - not a direct crossover. 
> 
> For phae who unknowingly started this by tagging me in a writing exercise, and for ereshai for enabling me. :)

 

 

The Agent frowned and shook the detector in his hand when it led him over to a tree and then promptly died. Why did these things always happen? He was a better engineer than that. He shook it again and nearly muttered something rude when he heard the sound of sniffling coming from above him. He glanced up and frowned softly when he caught sight of a small boy.

Small boys sniffling in trees never meant anything good.

“Excuse me, do you live here?” the Agent asked. The sniffling stopped.

“What?” came a small voice in reply. 

There we go.

“I said, do you live here?”

“No. Of course not.” Even for one so young his tone suggested he found the adult below him to be missing a few.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” the Agent asked, careful to keep any trace of humor or condescension out of his voice. Children were far more perceptive than most gave them credit for and he didn’t want to accidentally insult this one. 

“People don’t live in trees,” the boy replied, matter-of-fact. 

“Are you so sure about that? I know lots of people that live in trees.” The boy crept down a branch and the Agent could see that his expression was quite skeptical. Good good.

“What sorts of people live in trees?”

“All sorts,” he replied with a gentle smile. The boy crept down further, jumping out of the tree to land quite lightly on the ground with what looked like practiced ease. He must have done that often. Up close he looked dirty and a little disheveled; his eyes and nose red from crying. The Agent was pretty good at gauging human ages, though they developed rather differently than his own people, but this boy was a little more difficult to pin down. He was physically small, but his eyes looked older.

That and the fact that he had been hiding up a tree and crying made something uneasy settle in his stomach.

“Why’re you inna suite?” the boy asked, head tilted to the side.

“Because they’re terribly comfortable.” And they were. He’d not had a body yet that didn’t enjoy wearing one.

“Wuzzat in your hand?” He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch the object.

“It’s a special detector,” he grinned. The curious ones were always the best.

“Are you a detective?” And something wary came over the boy at that.

“No no, not really,” the Agent held up his hands. “I’m investigating something, but I am not a detective.” That didn’t really seem to set the boy at ease at all. “Don’t worry – you’re not in any trouble.” The boy still looked far too cautious for someone so young. “I’m looking for some very special rocks, you see.”

“Sky rocks?” the boy asked. 

The Agent closed his mouth abruptly and mentally took a step back. 

“How did you?” No, that wasn’t the proper course. “Why would you ask if they were sky rocks?” He kept his expression kind but curious – it wouldn’t do to make the boy feel pressured. He wanted to encourage him.

“Well…” the boy glanced up at him and then down at the ground again.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Please tell me.”

“There were lights in the sky last night. I saw ‘em.” There was a touch of defiance to his tone and the Agent knew that the boy wasn’t used to having people believe the things he said. “And there was a man with a tellyscope in the shop and he told mamma about the meety-rights he was gonna look at. Meety-rights are sky rocks, right?”

“Meteorites,” he corrected gently, watching as the boy mouthed the proper word. “Good. And yes, they are.” The boy beamed at him and he felt the warm hum of contentment in helping nurture a young mind. 

“Did the man say where he was going to watch them?” The boy shook his head. That could be a problem, whether he was a layman or knew what he was looking for. Still – the Agent had as good a source as any right here. “Did you see where the rocks fell at all?”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded. “They fell over that way,” he pointed off to the northwest. 

Before he could ask the boy anything else a man’s voice carried on the wind. “Clinton Francis Barton – if you don’t git back here this instant boy there’ll be hell to pay!”

Red-rimmed blue eyes widened in panic and the boy tripped over his own two feet in his haste to get moving. The Agent’s reflexes were quick and he caught him before he tumbled to the ground. He winced when he noticed how thin the boy felt. 

“Thanks Mister, I gotta go!” and he was scrambling away before the Agent could say another word. He almost made to go after him, but his detector took the opportunity to start going off again.

“Oh honestly,” he said to it, staring after the boy’s retreating form. There was something worth looking into with him; he felt it in his bones. Still…he needed to find the meteorite the Nestene Consciousness arrived in before anything else happened. And he was pretty sure the direction the boy had claimed the meteorites fell in was home to a wind farm. 

With a look back towards where the boy had retreated he mentally cataloged a return trip just as soon as he’d taken care of this crisis and took off at a run.

 

~~|~~

_one month later…_

 

The Agent stood at the edge of the cemetery, silently watching the small funeral. It was almost a pauper’s funeral really, with both bodies interned in simple wooden caskets. There would be no fancy standing headstones, more likely simple flat markers. Two young boys and three adults were the only people in attendance. Harold and Edith Barton didn’t have that many friends and no living relatives that seemed to have cared they’d passed away. 

Or left their two boys behind as orphans.

He waited patiently as first the pastor left. Then the older of the two boys released the younger’s hand and walked calmly over to a waiting car. Finally the other two adults, a nun and probably a social worker, walked away as well, leaving the younger boy to stand a lonely vigil. 

As he approached, the boy dropped to his knees and was sitting silently with his hand pressed against the simple marker for Edith. A few fat tears trailed down his face and plopped onto the fresh dirt.

“Why did she have to die too?” the boy questioned, voice barely carrying on the breeze. So he *had* noticed him. Good eyes on this one.

“I don’t know, Clint,” The Agent replied quietly. “Sometimes these things just happen.” He was normally very careful about personal space, but he had to wonder now how often this boy, this wonderful innocent, had been touched in anything other than anger. He’d done some research after their first encounter. Sad and frustrating reading it had been. The poor boy had so little kindness in his life. So little comfort. And so, he ran a careful hand over his hair, then rested it on his small shoulder. There was a hitch in Clint’s tears, the first sound he’d made other than the question about his mother, and then he leaned against the Agent’s leg, one thin arm curling around below his knee to steady himself.

“Barney an’ me hafta go to an orphanage. No one wanted us. No one ever wanted us.” So much weariness in such a young voice. How terrible Humans could sometimes be. 

“I bet your mother wanted you.”

“Yeah,” Clint sniffed. “Guess so.”

“And I bet she loved you very much.”

“Maybe” Clint tilted his head to look up at the Agent. “If she loved us, why did she let him hurt us?”

The Agent had to pause for a moment because that was a very good and very difficult question. In all of his long years he had never found an easy or even satisfactory answer for it. And though Clint was very young he didn’t want to pander to him. It wouldn’t be fair to the boy and frankly life was already unfair enough to him.

“Sometimes…sometimes we can’t stop the bad things from happening. I’m sure your mother tried her best to protect you and your brother. She probably had you hide if you could.” He saw Clint’s head bob in a little nod. “I bet your father hurt her too,” and at that the boy lowered his gaze back towards the ground, this nod smaller than the last. “She did what she could Clint. I wouldn’t doubt that she loved you and tried to do her best by you.”

Clint sniffed and nodded again and things were relatively quiet once more for a while, the wind in the trees and the calls of birds the only sounds breaking the silence in the air. Finally, Clint looked back up at the Agent. 

“Will you take me with you? And Barney? I don’t wanna go to the orphanage.” 

The look in his face was absolutely heartbreaking and the Agent actually found he needed to swallow a few times and take a deep breath before he could even try to reply. He’d only encountered this boy once before for a very short period of time. What must his life had been like that he wanted to go off with a complete stranger after such a brief conversation? What else had happened beyond what he’d read? What did he think was going to happen to him at the orphanage that he wanted to avoid?

“I’m so very sorry Clint,” he said as gently as possible. “I can’t really do that.”

Clint’s face went from hopeful to absolutely crushed and then angry in a few seconds.

“Then what good are you?” he asked as he scrambled to his feet and wiped his face ineffectually. He wasn’t really looking for an answer though, and the Agent realized that even before he stormed off towards the car. 

It was the logical answer. He couldn’t take children along with him. It would be too dangerous. But he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to Clint Barton as he got in the car that would take him to the orphanage and an uncertain future; and if he couldn’t have done more to help him.

 

 


	2. Aged Eleven

 

 

 

According to the sensors, the Rilaxian was within a half mile or so of where he had set down. 

“There is a circus in town,” he mused, checking the external cameras. “About as good a place as any for him to hide.” The Agent paused as he got a good look at what they were disguised as. “You went with that again, hm?” He raised his brow as the center console seemed to purr.

“Yes, I know we both like it, but is it safe here in rural Kansas?” 

The console hummed and the light tinted red for the briefest of moments before returning to its normal blue. He ran his hand over it lovingly. 

“Yes, you are more than capable. A panzer division couldn’t get through. I apologize.” 

A pair of sunglasses popped up out of a spot on the console and he knew he was forgiven. 

“Don’t wait up,” he said, slipping on the shades and stepping out the door – looking for all the world on the outside like he was getting out of a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette in the middle of a dusty field currently being used as parking for Carson’s Carnival of Travelling Wonders. He joined the modest line of people heading in the brightly colored entrance, taking in the usual sights and smells of a circus. Popcorn and cotton candy and other sweet treats from various vendors. Hot dogs and burgers for those looking for something more savory. And beneath all that, what the circus certainly didn’t want you to pick up, the smell of straw and sweat and animals. 

There was both a small sideshow area and a gaming section - the Rilaxian could blend in as a human easily enough, but he was more likely in one of those areas than a main tent act. He wouldn’t want to attract too much attention to himself. The Agent began his search by heading towards the sideshow, the patter of a barker quickly fading to background noise as he took in his surroundings. Off to his right, a flash of light caught his attention and he turned to watch a young boy with blond hair and quick hands juggling knives. Though he was distracted at first by the flashing of the knives as they spun through the air a sudden spark of recognition hit him.

But it couldn’t be…

A crowd of people moved in front of him and when they had passed the boy was nowhere in sight – one of his knives buried in a sign for Melia-Mistress of Pain. A wispy woman clad in white plucked the knife from the sign and hung it off of a hook embedded in her skin. With a wink she vanished behind the curtain. A teenager, well on his way to burly, took up a spot at the curtain and announced that no children were allowed. The Agent ignored him and scanned the crowd for the blond haired boy, but was unable to find any sign of him.

He walked past the usual fare of a bearded-lady, seated upon a throne-like chair and sharing raucous tales with the crowd around her. A contortionist across the way beckoned people closer to where she had squeezed herself into a tiny clear box, save for one free hand. A tinny strain of a familiar song drew him closer to a stall down the path. The closer he drew to that particular booth the more a feeling of unease settled in his stomach. The familiar song coalesced into “I’ve Got No Strings” when a stringless marionette of Pulcinella sauntered onto the tiny stage. 

His sonic shades picked up nothing unusual about the booth, but, something inside the Agent knew this wasn’t a normal Punch and Judy show. Still – he was after the Rilaxian and he reluctantly moved away from the violent little puppet and its rather sinister music. Perhaps he’d have time to look into it afterwards.

“Why do you have a blank piece of paper in your pocket?” 

The Agent glanced over and sure enough, sitting atop a barrel was Clint Barton. He was a little bigger, a little older – maybe ten or so – but looked quite similar to how he had when the Agent had last seen him. Especially his eyes.

“I saw it when you came in and then,” he slipped off the barrel and walked over, holding out the billfold. “Why is it blank and what did it make the others see?”

The Agent accepted the billfold with a hint of a smile. He was good, managing to pickpocket him like that. “Not many people aren’t fooled by my psychic paper.”

“Psychic paper?” Clint’s face was a picture perfect example of skeptical. 

“The paper has just a little bit of psychic energy – I can use it to show people what I want or what they need to see. Today it was a ticket to the circus. Tomorrow it might be an I.D. to get me into a controlled facility. 

“Psychic energy?” Clint’s brow furrowed. “Madame Cassandra is our psychic – she’s nice enough but it’s all tricks and learning to read people. She told me so. She’s teaching me to do it too.”

“There is a lot more to the world than you know,” the Agent replied.

“Okay, don’t tell me,” Clint responded, trying for all the world not to sound frustrated or disappointed.

The Agent reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, grateful that he didn’t flinch at the touch. “I promise Clint, I am not lying to you. I don’t ever want to lie to you if I can help it.” 

Clint narrowed those multi-colored eyes at him for a moment, assessing him in a way even most adults never did then nodded his acceptance.

“Why are you here anyway?” He asked a moment later.

The Agent sighed. It probably shouldn’t surprise him that Clint would ask him that. 

“I’m looking for someone,” he answered truthfully. “Not you – no offence,” he continued when Clint looked like he was going to ask. “It’s just a coincidence you’re here.” But was it really a coincidence? This was the second time he’d run into Clint while looking for another alien. 

It wasn’t location either, that was drawing them in – Iowa and Kansas were not at all hotbeds for activity. But then, why had he encountered the boy twice now? Surely he wasn’t doing anything to draw aliens to him. He’d only been a stop on the side with the Nestene – a failure of his detector to hone in on a signal. An accident. 

Perhaps this time really was a coincidence. 

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to enlist the boy’s help, just in case.

“Would you like to help me find the person I am looking for? You must know your way around.” The Agent watched Clint’s eyebrows raise slightly and had to admit to himself that the attempt at praise had fallen flat.

“Is it an alien you’re looking for?”

It would be no use to play dumb with the boy, but he was intrigued as to how he’d come to that conclusion. “What makes you think that?”

Clint eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “The meteorites the first time. I heard people talking in the shop that something weird had happened at the wind farm that night.”

The Agent nodded, almost to himself. Very perceptive this one. “Yes, yes I am looking for an alien.”

“Are _you_ an alien?”

The Agent allowed a genuine smile to break fully. Clever and perceptive indeed. “Yes, I am.” He paused a moment, letting the admission hang in the air. “Is that okay?” 

Clint studied him for a while, the weight of his gaze quite heavy, especially for someone so young. Finally he shrugged again. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

The Agent let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It was strange because he normally didn’t find himself feeling this way, but it was important to him that Clint accepted him. “Good. Thank you.” Clint smiled in reply and then grabbed his hand. At the Agent’s quizzical look he replied, matter o’ factly:

“I’m eleven, but small, it will be easier to stay together and not look as strange. Customers will think you’re my dad, the gamers might think you’re my mark.”

“Do you often have many marks?” the Agent asked, genuinely curious. He understood well doing what you needed to survive, but he hoped Clint could stay honest as long as possible.

“None – but Barney has,” he said glumly. Clearly he disapproved. He didn’t say anything else on the matter however, but he did keep up a constant stream of chatter as they wound their way back through the sideshow. Telling him about the people, how long each had been with the circus (to his knowledge); who was good for sharing info or food or other talents. 

The same happened in the gaming section – though there Clint also happily pointed out how each game was rigged and how you could beat it (if at all). Which of the gamers could be trusted, which couldn’t. He was a font of information, but as they cleared the last of the games and ended back near a food stall the Agent still hadn’t found any sign of the Rilaxian.

“We really haven’t had anyone new lately and I didn’t see anyone I didn’t know,” Clint said with a shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, don’t worry,” the Agent soothed. “He’s just trickier than I thought he’d be. We’ll find him.” 

He’d missed something. He hated it when he missed something. Maybe the Rilaxian had entered the circus after him? Been hiding in the fields beyond the edge of it? His mind was running through all the possibilities when the sound of Clint’s stomach growling broke his concentration. When he glanced over Clint wouldn’t meet his eyes and the tips of his ears were red.

“Clint?” He still wouldn’t look up. “Clint, when was the last time you ate?” he asked gently. He mumbled something that even the Agent’s usually keen ears couldn’t really make out. “Clint, it’s okay.”

“Last night?” Clint half-mumbled his eyes darting up guiltily before looking back towards the ground again. “I always get two meals, usually three, but Barney slept in and he has to lift heavy stuff when we set-up so I gave him my breakfast. I missed lunch doing the juggling, but, I’m sure Barney will give me something and I’ll get dinner later.”

“How would you like to share lunch with me then?” the Agent asked after reining in his anger again. Only two guaranteed meals a day? And sharing with his brother…he didn’t like the sound of any of this. Why had the boys come here anyway?

“Oh, I don’t know…” Clint hedged, toe of his shoe digging into the dirt.

“Well, I found you,” and Clint looked at him at that, “Okay, you found me right after you were juggling. I feel like I should make sure you get something.”

“…you’re sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s very lonely to eat by yourself.”

“Okay,” and there was that smile again. Clint truly was a bright child in every sense of the word. It was a shame so few around him could see that. 

They shared some fries and had a burger each, though the Agent only ate half of his, insisting Clint finish it (and most of the fries) because he was simply too full. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but, it was certainly better than half-starving the boy. 

“So how did you end up here in the circus?” the Agent asked as he watched Clint ball up the paper from their meal and toss it with amazing accuracy in a trash bin some feet away.

“Well…me an’ Barney-” and then Clint paused and cocked his head to the side to look more intently at something. 

“What? What is it?” They were back where they had first met in the sideshow, the barrels making comfortable enough chairs.

“I…I don’t know. It’s just…Madame Cassandra never closes this early in the afternoon,” he began, nodding over to the fortune teller’s tent. “And it looks like someone has been in the secret entrance to her tent, round the back. The ropes hanging wrong.”

The Agent was on his feet in an instant, tapping his sonic glasses to get a reading – and finding not one, but two Rilaxian signatures at the tent. Clint was pulling at his hand as he moved his way towards the back entrance, whispering furiously that Madame Cassandra was kind and good and that he didn’t want her to get hurt. The Agent admired his concern but was too busy trying to get inside before either of them was spooked and something bad did happen.

He’d misread the situation entirely.

There were two humanoids inside the tent. The male stood as he entered, taking up a defensive posture and eying the Agent warily despite his raised hands. His eyes flicked towards Clint a moment, then back to the Agent, dismissing the boy as a threat. The female made a pained noise and Clint jerked as if to go to her, which set the male on edge again.

“Easy – easy. We’re not here to hurt you. I picked you up on my sensors earlier and came looking for you. It’s so rare a Rilaxian lets their guard down that I thought you might have been here to cause harm. I didn’t realize you had a mate…and I wasn’t able to detect her until now.”

“What do you want?” the male asked, eyeing the two of them warily.

“Well now I would like to assist in the egg-laying, if I may? It’s been quite some time since your people have had one, hasn’t it?”

“Who are you?”

The Agent sighed and removed his glasses, spiriting them away into his suit jacket. This bit was always tricky. He took a breath to calm and center himself, then locked gazes with the male Rilaxian and let the weight of his long years settle into his gaze. 

“Time Lord,” the male breathed in a hushed whisper and the Agent nodded gravely, pulling back a little on himself. 

“What did you just do?” Clint asked, looking at him with awe in his eyes as the male Rilaxian allowed them to come closer. 

That was a surprise. Some sensitive species, Rilaxians among them, could – for lack of a better way of phrasing it - feel something of the age and wisdom in a Time Lord. He’d never really had a human react, even when he concentrated on showing what he was. 

Clint Barton was such a curious boy.

In short order he was distracted from thoughts of the boy as the female Rilaxian – Clint’s Madame Cassandra – let out another muffled grunt of pain and the real work of the egg-laying began. It was finished in a relatively short amount of time by the Agent’s reckoning, though he had no idea how long she’d been preparing before her mate had arrived. Though they appeared nearly identical to humans, Rilaxian egg-laying was thankfully much quicker than human childbirth. 

The egg was about five inches in diameter, bluish black in color, and almost perfectly round. If you looked at it long enough what seemed to be little pinpoints of light would show up, giving the appearance that there was of a galaxy of stars inside the sphere. The Agent helped Cassandra clean up as the male – Parmen – prepared a little basket for the egg and nestled it carefully inside with some soft blue fabric. 

“I didn’t… You’re an alien too?” Clint asked eyes still wide from what he had seen as he offered Cassandra a bottle of water. 

“Yes I am, dear boy,” she answered with a tired smile.

“I can keep a secret, don’t worry,” Clint replied as he carefully sat next to her on the bench and looked on in wonder when Parmen passed the egg-in-basket over to her lap. “It’s very beautiful,” he said quietly. “When will it hatch?”

“If we’re lucky, two, maybe three years,” Parmen replied.

“Why so long?” 

“Well, Clint, our race is very old and it takes time for one of us to develop,” Cassandra replied. “We conceived the egg a year ago and only now was it ready to come into the world. But the hatchling inside is not ready to come out. His or her father will carry it for a time in a pouch and we will both take turns nurturing it as it absorbs emotions from its surroundings until it is ready to hatch.”

“What will you do until then?” the Agent asked. “It’s a dangerous world out there as you well know.”

“Remain with Carsons as long as we can. It is a…unique collection of people, but most are good at heart. It’s also the easiest place for us to hide.”

“I can help you, if you want. With the egg? Or…well…I don’t know how to, but, I want to?” Clint suddenly offered. 

“We would appreciate that very much Clint, thank you,” Cassandra pressed a kiss to his forehead and the Agent had to suppress a smile at the faint blush that garnered. 

“Will my emotions be okay for it?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Oh my dear, my hatchling will be so lucky to have you around it.” 

The Agent and Clint lingered a few minutes more before departing the tent to give the couple some time to themselves. They walked slowly down the path that led towards the entrance to the circus, neither saying anything. The sideshow was deserted with the Big Top show in full swing and the silence was pleasantly meditative. The Agent stopped when he reached the gate and turned to face Clint.

“That was very brave and kind of you to offer to help.”

“I like helping people,” Clint replied, toe of his sneaker digging into the ground as he ducked his head shyly. A moment later he flung himself at the Agent for an impulsive hug. The Agent blinked for a moment in confusion, then reached down to return it. “Today was the best day ever,” Clint said as he pulled away.

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, and thank you again for helping me.”

Clint fairly glowed with the praise. “Are you gonna come back ever? Maybe see the egg hatch?”

“Well, I don’t know.” He usually didn’t. While his Tardis could travel through time and space he did tend to get distracted and lose track of things. “I hope to though. How’s that?”

“Okay,” Clint replied, his enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “I have to go now. I’m supposed to help with an act tonight. Set stuff up. I hope…” he glanced back at the tents and then up at the Agent, then back to the ground. “I hope I get to see you again.”

The Agent was about to speak again when the red-headed teen from earlier came near. “There you are. C’mon, Clint, you’re late. I covered for you but Duquesne won’t be happy if it takes too much longer.” He spared a suspicious look at the Agent as Clint waved and followed after him.

“I hope to see you again too, Clint Barton,” the Agent said softly as he returned to his Tardis.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [redsector-a](http://redsector-a.tumblr.com/)


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